We are not by any means devout believers in
the old Bow Street Police. To say the truth, we think there was a vast amount
of humbug about those worthies. Apart from many of them being men of very
indifferent character, and far too much in the habit of consorting with thieves
and the like, they never lost a public occasion of jobbing and trading in
mystery and making the most of themselves. Continually puffed besides by
incompetent magistrates anxious to conceal their own deficiencies, and
hand-in-glove with the penny-a-liners of that time, they became a sort of
superstition. Although as a Preventive Police they were utterly ineffective,
and as a Detective Police were very loose and uncertain in their operations,
they remain with some people a superstition to the present day.
On the other hand, the Detective Force
organised since the establishment of the existing Police, is so well chosen and
trained, proceeds so systematically and quietly, does its business in such a
workmanlike manner, and is always so calmly and steadily engaged in the service
of the public, that the public really do not know enough of it, to know a tithe
of its usefulness. Impressed with this conviction, and interested in the men
themselves, we represented to the authorities at Scotland Yard, that we should
be glad, if there were no official objection, to have some talk with the
Detectives. A most obliging and ready permission being given, a certain evening
was appointed with a certain Inspector for a social conference between
ourselves and the Detectives, at The Household Words Office in Wellington
Street, Strand, London. In consequence of which appointment the party 'came
off,' which we are about to describe. And we beg to repeat that, avoiding such
topics as it might for obvious reasons be injurious to the public, or
disagreeable to respectable individuals, to touch upon in print, our
description is as exact as we can make it.
The reader will have the goodness to imagine
the Sanctum Sanctorum of Household Words. Anything that best suits the reader's
fancy, will best represent that magnificent chamber. We merely stipulate for a
round table in the middle, with some glasses and cigars arranged upon it; and
the editorial sofa elegantly hemmed in between that stately piece of furniture
and the wall.
It is a sultry evening at dusk. The stones of
Wellington Street are hot and gritty, and the watermen and hackney-coachmen at
the Theatre opposite, are much flushed and aggravated. Carriages are constantly
setting down the people who have come to Fairy-Land; and there is a mighty
shouting and bellowing every now and then, deafening us for the moment, through
the open windows.
Just at dusk, Inspectors Wield and Stalker are
announced; but we do not undertake to warrant the orthography of any of the
names here mentioned. Inspector Wield presents Inspector Stalker. Inspector
Wield is a middle-aged man of a portly presence, with a large, moist, knowing
eye, a husky voice, and a habit of emphasising his conversation by the aid of a
corpulent fore-finger, which is constantly in juxtaposition with his eyes or
nose. Inspector Stalker is a shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman - in appearance not
at all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained schoolmaster, from the Normal
Establishment at Glasgow. Inspector Wield one might have known, perhaps, for
what he is - Inspector Stalker, never.
The ceremonies of reception over, Inspectors
Wield and Stalker observe that they have brought some sergeants with them. The
sergeants are presented - five in number, Sergeant Dornton, Sergeant Witchem,
Sergeant Mith, Sergeant Fendall, and Sergeant Straw. We have the whole
Detective Force from Scotland Yard, with one exception. They sit down in a
semi-circle (the two Inspectors at the two ends) at a little distance from the
round table, facing the editorial sofa. Every man of them, in a glance,
immediately takes an inventory of the furniture and an accurate sketch of the
editorial presence. The Editor feels that any gentleman in company could take
him up, if need should be, without the smallest hesitation, twenty years hence.
The whole party are in plain clothes. Sergeant
Dornton about fifty years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sunburnt
forehead, has the air of one who has been a Sergeant in the army - he might
have sat to Wilkie for the Soldier in the Reading of the Will. He is famous for
steadily pursuing the inductive process, and, from small beginnings, working on
from clue to clue until he bags his man. Sergeant Witchem, shorter and
thicker-set, and marked with the small-pox, has something of a reserved and
thoughtful air, as if he were engaged in deep arithmetical calculations. He is
renowned for his acquaintance with the swell mob. Sergeant Mith, a smooth-faced
man with a fresh bright complexion, and a strange air of simplicity, is a dab
at housebreakers. Sergeant Fendall, a light-haired, well-spoken, polite person,
is a prodigious hand at pursuing private inquiries of a delicate nature. Straw,
a little wiry Sergeant of meek demeanour and strong sense, would knock at a
door and ask a series of questions in any mild character you choose to
prescribe to him, from a charity-boy upwards, and seem as innocent as an
infant. They are, one and all, respectable-looking men; of perfectly good
deportment and unusual intelligence; with nothing lounging or slinking in their
manners; with an air of keen observation and quick perception when addressed;
and generally presenting in their faces, traces more or less marked of
habitually leading lives of strong mental excitement. They have all good eyes;
and they all can, and they all do, look full at whomsoever they speak to.
We light the cigars, and hand round the
glasses (which are very temperately used indeed), and the conversation begins
by a modest amateur reference on the Editorial part to the swell mob. Inspector
Wield immediately removes his cigar from his lips, waves his right hand, and
says, 'Regarding the swell mob, sir, I can't do better than call upon Sergeant
Witchem. Because the reason why? I'll tell you. Sergeant Witchem is better
acquainted with the swell mob than any officer in London.'
Our heart leaping up when we beheld this
rainbow in the sky, we turn to Sergeant Witchem, who very concisely, and in
well-chosen language, goes into the subject forthwith. Meantime, the whole of
his brother officers are closely interested in attending to what he says, and
observing its effect. Presently they begin to strike in, one or two together,
when an opportunity offers, and the conversation becomes general. But these
brother officers only come in to the assistance of each other - not to the
contradiction - and a more amicable brotherhood there could not be. From the
swell mob, we diverge to the kindred topics of cracksmen, fences, public-house
dancers, area-sneaks, designing young people who go out 'gonophing,' and other
'schools.' It is observable throughout these revelations, that Inspector
Stalker, the Scotchman, is always exact and statistical, and that when any
question of figures arises, everybody as by one consent pauses, and looks to
him.
When we have exhausted the various schools of
Art - during which discussion the whole body have remained profoundly
attentive, except when some unusual noise at the Theatre over the way has
induced some gentleman to glance inquiringly towards the window in that
direction, behind his next neighbour's back - we burrow for information on such
points as the following. Whether there really are any highway robberies in
London, or whether some circumstances not convenient to be mentioned by the
aggrieved party, usually precede the robberies complained of, under that head,
which quite change their character? Certainly the latter, almost always.
Whether in the case of robberies in houses, where servants are necessarily
exposed to doubt, innocence under suspicion ever becomes so like guilt in
appearance, that a good officer need be cautious how he judges it? Undoubtedly.
Nothing is so common or deceptive as such appearances at first. Whether in a
place of public amusement, a thief knows an officer, and an officer knows a
thief - supposing them, beforehand, strangers to each other - because each
recognises in the other, under all disguise, an inattention to what is going
on, and a purpose that is not the purpose of being entertained? Yes. That's the
way exactly. Whether it is reasonable or ridiculous to trust to the alleged
experiences of thieves as narrated by themselves, in prisons, or
penitentiaries, or anywhere? In general, nothing more absurd. Lying is their
habit and their trade; and they would rather lie - even if they hadn't an
interest in it, and didn't want to make themselves agreeable - than tell the
truth.
From these topics, we glide into a review of
the most celebrated and horrible of the great crimes that have been committed
within the last fifteen or twenty years. The men engaged in the discovery of
almost all of them, and in the pursuit or apprehension of the murderers, are
here, down to the very last instance. One of our guests gave chase to and
boarded the emigrant ship, in which the murderess last hanged in London was
supposed to have embarked. We learn from him that his errand was not announced
to the passengers, who may have no idea of it to this hour. That he went below,
with the captain, lamp in hand - it being dark, and the whole steerage abed and
sea-sick - and engaged the Mrs. Manning who WAS on board, in a conversation
about her luggage, until she was, with no small pains, induced to raise her
head, and turn her face towards the light. Satisfied that she was not the
object of his search, he quietly re-embarked in the Government steamer
along-side, and steamed home again with the intelligence.
When we have exhausted these subjects, too,
which occupy a considerable time in the discussion, two or three leave their
chairs, whisper Sergeant Witchem, and resume their seat. Sergeant Witchem,
leaning forward a little, and placing a hand on each of his legs, then modestly
speaks as follows:
'My brother-officers wish me to relate a
little account of my taking Tally-ho Thompson. A man oughtn't to tell what he
has done himself; but still, as nobody was with me, and, consequently, as
nobody but myself can tell it, I'll do it in the best way I can, if it should
meet your approval.'
We assure Sergeant Witchem that he will oblige
us very much, and we all compose ourselves to listen with great interest and
attention.
'Tally-ho Thompson,' says Sergeant Witchem, after
merely wetting his lips with his brandy-and-water, 'Tally-ho Thompson was a
famous horse-stealer, couper, and magsman. Thompson, in conjunction with a pal
that occasionally worked with him, gammoned a countryman out of a good round
sum of money, under pretence of getting him a situation - the regular old dodge
- and was afterwards in the "Hue and Cry" for a horse - a horse that
he stole down in Hertfordshire. I had to look after Thompson, and I applied
myself, of course, in the first instance, to discovering where he was. Now,
Thompson's wife lived, along with a little daughter, at Chelsea. Knowing that
Thompson was somewhere in the country, I watched the house - especially at
post-time in the morning - thinking Thompson was pretty likely to write to her.
Sure enough, one morning the postman comes up, and delivers a letter at Mrs.
Thompson's door. Little girl opens the door, and takes it in. We're not always
sure of postmen, though the people at the post-offices are always very
obliging. A postman may help us, or he may not, - just as it happens. However,
I go across the road, and I say to the postman, after he has left the letter,
"Good morning! how are you?" "How are YOU!" says he.
"You've just delivered a letter for Mrs. Thompson." "Yes, I
have." "You didn't happen to remark what the post-mark was,
perhaps?" "No," says he, "I didn't." "Come,"
says I, "I'll be plain with you. I'm in a small way of business, and I
have given Thompson credit, and I can't afford to lose what he owes me. I know
he's got money, and I know he's in the country, and if you could tell me what
the post-mark was, I should be very much obliged to you, and you'd do a service
to a tradesman in a small way of business that can't afford a loss."
"Well," he said, "I do assure you that I did not observe what
the post-mark was; all I know is, that there was money in the letter - I should
say a sovereign." This was enough for me, because of course I knew that
Thompson having sent his wife money, it was probable she'd write to Thompson, by
return of post, to acknowledge the receipt. So I said "Thankee" to
the postman, and I kept on the watch. In the afternoon I saw the little girl
come out. Of course I followed her. She went into a stationer's shop, and I
needn't say to you that I looked in at the window. She bought some
writing-paper and envelopes, and a pen. I think to myself, "That'll
do!" - watch her home again - and don't go away, you may be sure, knowing
that Mrs. Thompson was writing her letter to Tally-ho, and that the letter would
be posted presently. In about an hour or so, out came the little girl again,
with the letter in her hand. I went up, and said something to the child,
whatever it might have been; but I couldn't see the direction of the letter,
because she held it with the seal upwards. However, I observed that on the back
of the letter there was what we call a kiss - a drop of wax by the side of the
seal - and again, you understand, that was enough for me. I saw her post the
letter, waited till she was gone, then went into the shop, and asked to see the
Master. When he came out, I told him, "Now, I'm an Officer in the
Detective Force; there's a letter with a kiss been posted here just now, for a
man that I'm in search of; and what I have to ask of you, is, that you will let
me look at the direction of that letter." He was very civil - took a lot
of letters from the box in the window - shook 'em out on the counter with the
faces downwards - and there among 'em was the identical letter with the kiss.
It was directed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, B-, to be left till called
for. Down I went to B- (a hundred and twenty miles or so) that night. Early
next morning I went to the Post Office; saw the gentleman in charge of that
department; told him who I was; and that my object was to see, and track, the
party that should come for the letter for Mr. Thomas Pigeon. He was very
polite, and said, "You shall have every assistance we can give you; you
can wait inside the office; and we'll take care to let you know when anybody
comes for the letter." Well, I waited there three days, and began to think
that nobody ever WOULD come. At last the clerk whispered to me, "Here!
Detective! Somebody's come for the letter!" "Keep him a minute,"
said I, and I ran round to the outside of the office. There I saw a young chap
with the appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by the bridle - stretching
the bridle across the pavement, while he waited at the Post Office Window for
the letter. I began to pat the horse, and that; and I said to the boy,
"Why, this is Mr. Jones's Mare!" "No. It an't."
"No?" said I. "She's very like Mr. Jones's Mare!" "She
an't Mr. Jones's Mare, anyhow," says he. "It's Mr. So and So's, of
the Warwick Arms." And up he jumped, and off he went - letter and all. I
got a cab, followed on the box, and was so quick after him that I came into the
stable-yard of the Warwick Arms, by one gate, just as he came in by another. I
went into the bar, where there was a young woman serving, and called for a
glass of brandy-and-water. He came in directly, and handed her the letter. She
casually looked at it, without saying anything, and stuck it up behind the
glass over the chimney-piece. What was to be done next?
'I turned it over in my mind while I drank my
brandy-and-water (looking pretty sharp at the letter the while), but I couldn't
see my way out of it at all. I tried to get lodgings in the house, but there
had been a horse-fair, or something of that sort, and it was full. I was
obliged to put up somewhere else, but I came backwards and forwards to the bar
for a couple of days, and there was the letter always behind the glass. At last
I thought I'd write a letter to Mr. Pigeon myself, and see what that would do.
So I wrote one, and posted it, but I purposely addressed it, Mr. John Pigeon,
instead of Mr. Thomas Pigeon, to see what THAT would do. In the morning (a very
wet morning it was) I watched the postman down the street, and cut into the
bar, just before he reached the Warwick Arms. In he came presently with my
letter. "Is there a Mr. John Pigeon staying here?" "No! - stop a
bit though," says the barmaid; and she took down the letter behind the
glass. "No," says she, "it's Thomas, and HE is not staying here.
Would you do me a favour, and post this for me, as it is so wet?" The
postman said Yes; she folded it in another envelope, directed it, and gave it
him. He put it in his hat, and away he went.
'I had no difficulty in finding out the
direction of that letter. It was addressed Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, R-,
Northamptonshire, to be left till called for. Off I started directly for R-; I
said the same at the Post Office there, as I had said at B-; and again I waited
three days before anybody came. At last another chap on horseback came.
"Any letters for Mr. Thomas Pigeon?" "Where do you come
from?" "New Inn, near R-." He got the letter, and away HE went
at a canter.
'I made my inquiries about the New Inn, near
R-, and hearing it was a solitary sort of house, a little in the horse line,
about a couple of miles from the station, I thought I'd go and have a look at
it. I found it what it had been described, and sauntered in, to look about me.
The landlady was in the bar, and I was trying to get into conversation with
her; asked her how business was, and spoke about the wet weather, and so on;
when I saw, through an open door, three men sitting by the fire in a sort of
parlour, or kitchen; and one of those men, according to the description I had
of him, was Tally-ho Thompson!
'I went and sat down among 'em, and tried to
make things agreeable; but they were very shy - wouldn't talk at all - looked
at me, and at one another, in a way quite the reverse of sociable. I reckoned
'em up, and finding that they were all three bigger men than me, and
considering that their looks were ugly - that it was a lonely place - railroad
station two miles off - and night coming on - thought I couldn't do better than
have a drop of brandy-and-water to keep my courage up. So I called for my
brandy-and-water; and as I was sitting drinking it by the fire, Thompson got up
and went out.
'Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn't
sure it WAS Thompson, because I had never set eyes on him before; and what I
had wanted was to be quite certain of him. However, there was nothing for it
now, but to follow, and put a bold face upon it. I found him talking, outside
in the yard, with the landlady. It turned out afterwards that he was wanted by
a Northampton officer for something else, and that, knowing that officer to be
pock-marked (as I am myself), he mistook me for him. As I have observed, I
found him talking to the landlady, outside. I put my hand upon his shoulder -
this way - and said, "Tally-ho Thompson, it's no use. I know you. I'm an
officer from London, and I take you into custody for felony!" "That
be d-d!" says Tally-ho Thompson.
'We went back into the house, and the two
friends began to cut up rough, and their looks didn't please me at all, I
assure you. "Let the man go. What are you going to do with him?"
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do with him. I'm going to take him to
London to-night, as sure as I'm alive. I'm not alone here, whatever you may
think. You mind your own business, and keep yourselves to yourselves. It'll be
better for you, for I know you both very well." I'D never seen or heard of
'em in all my life, but my bouncing cowed 'em a bit, and they kept off, while
Thompson was making ready to go. I thought to myself, however, that they might
be coming after me on the dark road, to rescue Thompson; so I said to the
landlady, "What men have you got in the house, Missis?" "We
haven't got no men here," she says, sulkily. "You have got an ostler,
I suppose?" "Yes, we've got an ostler." "Let me see
him." Presently he came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was.
"Now attend to me, young man," says I; "I'm a Detective Officer
from London. This man's name is Thompson. I have taken him into custody for
felony. I am going to take him to the railroad station. I call upon you in the
Queen's name to assist me; and mind you, my friend, you'll get yourself into
more trouble than you know of, if you don't!' You never saw a person open his
eyes so wide. "Now, Thompson, come along!" says I. But when I took
out the handcuffs, Thompson cries, "No! None of that! I won't stand THEM!
I'll go along with you quiet, but I won't bear none of that!" "Tally-ho
Thompson," I said, "I'm willing to behave as a man to you, if you are
willing to behave as a man to me. Give me your word that you'll come peaceably
along, and I don't want to handcuff you." "I will," says
Thompson, "but I'll have a glass of brandy first." "I don't care
if I've another," said I. "We'll have two more, Missis," said
the friends, "and confound you, Constable, you'll give your man a drop,
won't you?" I was agreeable to that, so we had it all round, and then my
man and I took Tally-ho Thompson safe to the railroad, and I carried him to
London that night. He was afterwards acquitted, on account of a defect in the
evidence; and I understand he always praises me up to the skies, and says I'm
one of the best of men.'
This story coming to a termination amidst
general applause, Inspector Wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye
on his host, and thus delivers himself:
'It wasn't a bad plant that of mine, on Fikey,
the man accused of forging the Sou'-Western Railway debentures - it was only
t'other day - because the reason why? I'll tell you.
'I had information that Fikey and his brother
kept a factory over yonder there,' - indicating any region on the Surrey side
of the river - 'where he bought second-hand carriages; so after I'd tried in
vain to get hold of him by other means, I wrote him a letter in an assumed
name, saying that I'd got a horse and shay to dispose of, and would drive down
next day that he might view the lot, and make an offer - very reasonable it
was, I said - a reg'lar bargain. Straw and me then went off to a friend of mine
that's in the livery and job business, and hired a turn-out for the day, a
precious smart turn-out it was - quite a slap-up thing! Down we drove,
accordingly, with a friend (who's not in the Force himself); and leaving my
friend in the shay near a public-house, to take care of the horse, we went to
the factory, which was some little way off. In the factory, there was a number
of strong fellows at work, and after reckoning 'em up, it was clear to me that
it wouldn't do to try it on there. They were too many for us. We must get our
man out of doors. "Mr. Fikey at home?" "No, he ain't."
"Expected home soon?" "Why, no, not soon." "Ah! Is his
brother here?" "I'M his brother." "Oh! well, this is an
ill-conwenience, this is. I wrote him a letter yesterday, saying I'd got a
little turn-out to dispose of, and I've took the trouble to bring the turn-out
down a' purpose, and now he ain't in the way." "No, he ain't in the
way. You couldn't make it convenient to call again, could you?" "Why,
no, I couldn't. I want to sell; that's the fact; and I can't put it off. Could
you find him anywheres?" At first he said No, he couldn't, and then he
wasn't sure about it, and then he'd go and try. So at last he went up-stairs, where
there was a sort of loft, and presently down comes my man himself in his
shirt-sleeves.
'"Well," he says, "this seems
to be rayther a pressing matter of yours." "Yes," I says,
"it IS rayther a pressing matter, and you'll find it a bargain - dirt cheap."
"I ain't in partickler want of a bargain just now," he says,
"but where is it?" "Why," I says, "the turn-out's just
outside. Come and look at it." He hasn't any suspicions, and away we go.
And the first thing that happens is, that the horse runs away with my friend
(who knows no more of driving than a child) when he takes a little trot along
the road to show his paces. You never saw such a game in your life!
'When the bolt is over, and the turn-out has
come to a standstill again, Fikey walks round and round it as grave as a judge
- me too. "There, sir!" I says. "There's a neat thing!"
"It ain't a bad style of thing," he says. "I believe you,"
says I. "And there's a horse!" - for I saw him looking at it.
"Rising eight!" I says, rubbing his fore-legs. (Bless you, there
ain't a man in the world knows less of horses than I do, but I'd heard my
friend at the Livery Stables say he was eight year old, so I says, as knowing
as possible, "Rising eight.") "Rising eight, is he?" says
he. "Rising eight," says I. "Well," he says, "what do
you want for it?" "Why, the first and last figure for the whole
concern is five-and-twenty pound!" "That's very cheap!" he says,
looking at me. "Ain't it?" I says. "I told you it was a bargain!
Now, without any higgling and haggling about it, what I want is to sell, and
that's my price. Further, I'll make it easy to you, and take half the money
down, and you can do a bit of stiff1for the balance."
"Well," he says again, "that's
very cheap." "I believe you," says I; "get in and try it, and
you'll buy it. Come! take a trial!"
'Ecod, he gets in, and we get in, and we drive
along the road, to show him to one of the railway clerks that was hid in the
public-house window to identify him. But the clerk was bothered, and didn't
know whether it was him, or wasn't - because the reason why? I'll tell you, -
on account of his having shaved his whiskers. "It's a clever little
horse," he says, "and trots well; and the shay runs light."
"Not a doubt about it," I says. "And now, Mr. Fikey, I may as
well make it all right, without wasting any more of your time. The fact is, I'm
Inspector Wield, and you're my prisoner." "You don't mean that?"
he says. "I do, indeed." "Then burn my body," says Fikey,
"if this ain't TOO bad!"
'Perhaps you never saw a man so knocked over
with surprise. "I hope you'll let me have my coat?" he says. "By
all means." "Well, then, let's drive to the factory." "Why,
not exactly that, I think," said I; "I've been there, once before,
to-day. Suppose we send for it." He saw it was no go, so he sent for it,
and put it on, and we drove him up to London, comfortable.'
This reminiscence is in the height of its
success, when a general proposal is made to the fresh-complexioned,
smooth-faced officer, with the strange air of simplicity, to tell the
'Butcher's Story.'
The fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer,
with the strange air of simplicity, began with a rustic smile, and in a soft,
wheedling tone of voice, to relate the Butcher's Story, thus:
'It's just about six years ago, now, since information
was given at Scotland Yard of there being extensive robberies of lawns and
silks going on, at some wholesale houses in the City. Directions were given for
the business being looked into; and Straw, and Fendall, and me, we were all in
it.'
'When you received your instructions,' said
we, 'you went away, and held a sort of Cabinet Council together!'
The smooth-faced officer coaxingly replied,
'Ye-es. Just so. We turned it over among ourselves a good deal. It appeared,
when we went into it, that the goods were sold by the receivers extraordinarily
cheap - much cheaper than they could have been if they had been honestly come
by. The receivers were in the trade, and kept capital shops - establishments of
the first respectability - one of 'em at the West End, one down in Westminster.
After a lot of watching and inquiry, and this and that among ourselves, we
found that the job was managed, and the purchases of the stolen goods made, at
a little public-house near Smithfield, down by Saint Bartholomew's; where the
Warehouse Porters, who were the thieves, took 'em for that purpose, don't you
see? and made appointments to meet the people that went between themselves and
the receivers. This public-house was principally used by journeymen butchers
from the country, out of place, and in want of situations; so, what did we do,
but - ha, ha, ha! - we agreed that I should be dressed up like a butcher
myself, and go and live there!'
Never, surely, was a faculty of observation
better brought to bear upon a purpose, than that which picked out this officer
for the part. Nothing in all creation could have suited him better. Even while
he spoke, he became a greasy, sleepy, shy, good-natured, chuckle-headed,
unsuspicious, and confiding young butcher. His very hair seemed to have suet in
it, as he made it smooth upon his head, and his fresh complexion to be
lubricated by large quantities of animal food.
' - So I - ha, ha, ha!' (always with the
confiding snigger of the foolish young butcher) 'so I dressed myself in the
regular way, made up a little bundle of clothes, and went to the public-house,
and asked if I could have a lodging there? They says, "yes, you can have a
lodging here," and I got a bedroom, and settled myself down in the tap.
There was a number of people about the place, and coming backwards and forwards
to the house; and first one says, and then another says, "Are you from the
country, young man?" "Yes," I says, "I am. I'm come out of
Northamptonshire, and I'm quite lonely here, for I don't know London at all,
and it's such a mighty big town." "It IS a big town," they says.
"Oh, it's a VERY big town!" I says. "Really and truly I never
was in such a town. It quite confuses of me!" and all that, you know.
'When some of the journeymen Butchers that
used the house, found that I wanted a place, they says, "Oh, we'll get you
a place!" And they actually took me to a sight of places, in Newgate
Market, Newport Market, Clare, Carnaby - I don't know where all. But the wages
was - ha, ha, ha! - was not sufficient, and I never could suit myself, don't
you see? Some of the queer frequenters of the house were a little suspicious of
me at first, and I was obliged to be very cautious indeed how I communicated
with Straw or Fendall. Sometimes, when I went out, pretending to stop and look
into the shop windows, and just casting my eye round, I used to see some of 'em
following me; but, being perhaps better accustomed than they thought for, to
that sort of thing, I used to lead 'em on as far as I thought necessary or
convenient - sometimes a long way - and then turn sharp round, and meet 'em,
and say, "Oh, dear, how glad I am to come upon you so fortunate! This
London's such a place, I'm blowed if I ain't lost again!" And then we'd go
back all together, to the public-house, and - ha, ha, ha! and smoke our pipes,
don't you see?
'They were very attentive to me, I am sure. It
was a common thing, while I was living there, for some of 'em to take me out,
and show me London. They showed me the Prisons - showed me Newgate - and when
they showed me Newgate, I stops at the place where the Porters pitch their
loads, and says, "Oh dear, is this where they hang the men? Oh Lor!"
"That!" they says, "what a simple cove he is! THAT ain't
it!" And then, they pointed out which WAS it, and I says "Lor!"
and they says, "Now you'll know it agen, won't you?" And I said I
thought I should if I tried hard - and I assure you I kept a sharp look out for
the City Police when we were out in this way, for if any of 'em had happened to
know me, and had spoke to me, it would have been all up in a minute. However,
by good luck such a thing never happened, and all went on quiet: though the
difficulties I had in communicating with my brother officers were quite
extraordinary.
'The stolen goods that were brought to the
public-house by the Warehouse Porters, were always disposed of in a back
parlour. For a long time, I never could get into this parlour, or see what was
done there. As I sat smoking my pipe, like an innocent young chap, by the
tap-room fire, I'd hear some of the parties to the robbery, as they came in and
out, say softly to the landlord, "Who's that? What does HE do here?"
"Bless your soul," says the landlord, "he's only a" - ha,
ha, ha! - "he's only a green young fellow from the country, as is looking
for a butcher's sitiwation. Don't mind HIM!" So, in course of time, they
were so convinced of my being green, and got to be so accustomed to me, that I
was as free of the parlour as any of 'em, and I have seen as much as Seventy
Pounds' Worth of fine lawn sold there, in one night, that was stolen from a
warehouse in Friday Street. After the sale the buyers always stood treat - hot
supper, or dinner, or what not - and they'd say on those occasions, "Come
on, Butcher! Put your best leg foremost, young 'un, and walk into it!"
Which I used to do - and hear, at table, all manner of particulars that it was
very important for us Detectives to know.
'This went on for ten weeks. I lived in the
public-house all the time, and never was out of the Butcher's dress - except in
bed. At last, when I had followed seven of the thieves, and set 'em to rights -
that's an expression of ours, don't you see, by which I mean to say that I
traced 'em, and found out where the robberies were done, and all about 'em -
Straw, and Fendall, and I, gave one another the office, and at a time agreed
upon, a descent was made upon the public-house, and the apprehensions effected.
One of the first things the officers did, was to collar me - for the parties to
the robbery weren't to suppose yet, that I was anything but a Butcher - on
which the landlord cries out, "Don't take HIM," he says,
"whatever you do! He's only a poor young chap from the country, and butter
wouldn't melt in his mouth!" However, they - ha, ha, ha! - they took me,
and pretended to search my bedroom, where nothing was found but an old fiddle
belonging to the landlord, that had got there somehow or another. But, it
entirely changed the landlord's opinion, for when it was produced, he says,
"My fiddle! The Butcher's a purloiner! I give him into custody for the
robbery of a musical instrument!"
'The man that had stolen the goods in Friday
Street was not taken yet. He had told me, in confidence, that he had his
suspicions there was something wrong (on account of the City Police having
captured one of the party), and that he was going to make himself scarce. I
asked him, "Where do you mean to go, Mr. Shepherdson?" "Why, Butcher,"
says he, "the Setting Moon, in the Commercial Road, is a snug house, and I
shall bang out there for a time. I shall call myself Simpson, which appears to
me to be a modest sort of a name. Perhaps you'll give us a look in, Butcher?"
"Well," says I, "I think I WILL give you a call" - which I
fully intended, don't you see, because, of course, he was to be taken! I went
over to the Setting Moon next day, with a brother officer, and asked at the bar
for Simpson. They pointed out his room, up-stairs. As we were going up, he
looks down over the banister, and calls out, "Halloa, Butcher! is that
you?" "Yes, it's me. How do you find yourself?"
"Bobbish," he says; "but who's that with you?" "It's
only a young man, that's a friend of mine," I says. "Come along,
then," says he; "any friend of the Butcher's is as welcome as the
Butcher!" So, I made my friend acquainted with him, and we took him into
custody.
'You have no idea, sir, what a sight it was,
in Court, when they first knew that I wasn't a Butcher, after all! I wasn't
produced at the first examination, when there was a remand; but I was at the
second. And when I stepped into the box, in full police uniform, and the whole
party saw how they had been done, actually a groan of horror and dismay
proceeded from 'em in the dock!
'At the Old Bailey, when their trials came on,
Mr. Clarkson was engaged for the defence, and he COULDN'T make out how it was,
about the Butcher. He thought, all along, it was a real Butcher. When the
counsel for the prosecution said, "I will now call before you, gentlemen,
the Police-officer," meaning myself, Mr. Clarkson says, "Why
Police-officer? Why more Police-officers? I don't want Police. We have had a
great deal too much of the Police. I want the Butcher!" However, sir, he
had the Butcher and the Police-officer, both in one. Out of seven prisoners
committed for trial, five were found guilty, and some of 'em were transported.
The respectable firm at the West End got a term of imprisonment; and that's the
Butcher's Story!'
The story done, the chuckle-headed Butcher
again resolved himself into the smooth-faced Detective. But, he was so
extremely tickled by their having taken him about, when he was that Dragon in
disguise, to show him London, that he could not help reverting to that point in
his narrative; and gently repeating with the Butcher snigger, '"Oh,
dear," I says, "is that where they hang the men? Oh, Lor!"
"THAT!" says they. "What a simple cove he is!"'
It being now late, and the party very modest
in their fear of being too diffuse, there were some tokens of separation; when
Sergeant Dornton, the soldierly-looking man, said, looking round him with a
smile:
'Before we break up, sir, perhaps you might
have some amusement in hearing of the Adventures of a Carpet Bag. They are very
short; and, I think, curious.'
We welcomed the Carpet Bag, as cordially as
Mr. Shepherdson welcomed the false Butcher at the Setting Moon. Sergeant
Dornton proceeded.
'In 1847, I was despatched to Chatham, in
search of one Mesheck, a Jew. He had been carrying on, pretty heavily, in the
bill-stealing way, getting acceptances from young men of good connexions (in
the army chiefly), on pretence of discount, and bolting with the same.
'Mesheck was off, before I got to Chatham. All
I could learn about him was, that he had gone, probably to London, and had with
him - a Carpet Bag.
'I came back to town, by the last train from
Blackwall, and made inquiries concerning a Jew passenger with - a Carpet Bag.
'The office was shut up, it being the last
train. There were only two or three porters left. Looking after a Jew with a
Carpet Bag, on the Blackwall Railway, which was then the high road to a great
Military Depot, was worse than looking after a needle in a hayrick. But it
happened that one of these porters had carried, for a certain Jew, to a certain
public-house, a certain - Carpet Bag.
'I went to the public-house, but the Jew had
only left his luggage there for a few hours, and had called for it in a cab,
and taken it away. I put such questions there, and to the porter, as I thought
prudent, and got at this description of - the Carpet Bag.
'It was a bag which had, on one side of it,
worked in worsted, a green parrot on a stand. A green parrot on a stand was the
means by which to identify that - Carpet Bag.
'I traced Mesheck, by means of this green
parrot on a stand, to Cheltenham, to Birmingham, to Liverpool, to the Atlantic
Ocean. At Liverpool he was too many for me. He had gone to the United States,
and I gave up all thoughts of Mesheck, and likewise of his - Carpet Bag.
'Many months afterwards - near a year
afterwards - there was a bank in Ireland robbed of seven thousand pounds, by a
person of the name of Doctor Dundey, who escaped to America; from which country
some of the stolen notes came home. He was supposed to have bought a farm in
New Jersey. Under proper management, that estate could be seized and sold, for
the benefit of the parties he had defrauded. I was sent off to America for this
purpose.
'I landed at Boston. I went on to New York. I
found that he had lately changed New York paper-money for New Jersey paper
money, and had banked cash in New Brunswick. To take this Doctor Dundey, it was
necessary to entrap him into the State of New York, which required a deal of
artifice and trouble. At one time, he couldn't be drawn into an appointment. At
another time, he appointed to come to meet me, and a New York officer, on a
pretext I made; and then his children had the measles. At last he came, per
steamboat, and I took him, and lodged him in a New York prison called the
Tombs; which I dare say you know, sir?'
Editorial acknowledgment to that effect.
'I went to the Tombs, on the morning after his
capture, to attend the examination before the magistrate. I was passing through
the magistrate's private room, when, happening to look round me to take notice
of the place, as we generally have a habit of doing, I clapped my eyes, in one
corner, on a - Carpet Bag.
'What did I see upon that Carpet Bag, if
you'll believe me, but a green parrot on a stand, as large as life!
'"That Carpet Bag, with the
representation of a green parrot on a stand," said I, "belongs to an
English Jew, named Aaron Mesheck, and to no other man, alive or dead!"
'I give you my word the New York Police
Officers were doubled up with surprise.
'"How did you ever come to know
that?" said they.
'"I think I ought to know that green
parrot by this time," said I; "for I have had as pretty a dance after
that bird, at home, as ever I had, in all my life!"'
'And was it Mesheck's?' we submissively
inquired.
'Was it, sir? Of course it was! He was in
custody for another offence, in that very identical Tombs, at that very
identical time. And, more than that! Some memoranda, relating to the fraud for
which I had vainly endeavoured to take him, were found to be, at that moment,
lying in that very same individual - Carpet Bag!'
Such are the curious coincidences and such is
the peculiar ability, always sharpening and being improved by practice, and
always adapting itself to every variety of circumstances, and opposing itself
to every new device that perverted ingenuity can invent, for which this
important social branch of the public service is remarkable! For ever on the
watch, with their wits stretched to the utmost, these officers have, from day
to day and year to year, to set themselves against every novelty of trickery
and dexterity that the combined imaginations of all the lawless rascals in
England can devise, and to keep pace with every such invention that comes out.
In the Courts of Justice, the materials of thousands of such stories as we have
narrated - often elevated into the marvellous and romantic, by the
circumstances of the case - are dryly compressed into the set phrase, 'in
consequence of information I received, I did so and so.' Suspicion was to be directed,
by careful inference and deduction, upon the right person; the right person was
to be taken, wherever he had gone, or whatever he was doing to avoid detection:
he is taken; there he is at the bar; that is enough. From information I, the
officer, received, I did it; and, according to the custom in these cases, I say
no more.
These games of chess, played with live pieces,
are played before small audiences, and are chronicled nowhere. The interest of
the game supports the player. Its results are enough for justice. To compare
great things with small, suppose LEVERRIER or ADAMS informing the public that
from information he had received he had discovered a new planet; or COLUMBUS
informing the public of his day that from information he had received he had discovered
a new continent; so the Detectives inform it that they have discovered a new
fraud or an old offender, and the process is unknown.
Thus, at midnight, closed the proceedings of
our curious and interesting party. But one other circumstance finally wound up
the evening, after our Detective guests had left us. One of the sharpest among
them, and the officer best acquainted with the Swell Mob, had his pocket
picked, going home.
EmoticonEmoticon